Goodbye Normal

I don't think there is anymore chance of me falling asleep tonight than there is a kid on Christmas eve.  Except instead of bringing fun, tomorrow is sucking away my normal.  Instead of stockings and toys Neil gets a port implanted into his chest.  Normal won't ever be the same for us again.

Port placement at DRMC tomorrow at 7 am (I didn't want Neil to have to be fasting all day, but 7 am? *yawn*) then chemo here at CCH Wednesday at 10 am, coming home with a fanny pack with chemo infusing until Friday.  Normal.  Diarrhea, nausea, fatigue.  All normal. Work scheduled around chemo and oncology appointments, totally normal.

I wanted to get normal family pictures taken, before our new normal invades our life and I got them back today (thanks for being flexible Jenelle!)

Nornal.

These pictures mean so much to me, it's rare for everyone to be at the same place at the same time.  Our pictures from Provo was as close as it gets and someone was missing.  Besides pictures of Christmas pants, the last time we were together with everyone and there is photographic proof was our wedding.  I want decades of pictures, showing kids growing, new additions, people missing because of military service (even though it scares me), more wrinkles than I wish I had.  Crazy styles we thought were awesome, big hair we'll make fun of some day -- I loved the big hair.  I might not ever get all that.  For now I get our pre-wedding family pictures, wedding pictures, pictures in Provo and these, one of our last normal pictures before normal became a stranger I don't like.

The reality of a pancreatic cancer diagnosis has been very real for me today, I don't know if it's conversations I've had work, Neil starting chemo this week, realizing I still need to go chemo shopping (it's a real thing and much less fun than Christmas shopping) and want to get everything cleaned tomorrow, or reality starting to set in a little more.  I have a love/hate relationship with the uncertainty we are facing.  I mostly hate it.  I want guarantees and about the only guarantee we have is that things are about to get worse, like sitting on a hill watching black clouds roll in and the air change, I know a storm is impending.  Not so long ago the fate of a pancreatic cancer diagnosis was a lot more certain.  Pancreatic cancer meant death, and a lot sooner than had been thought of or planned. It's still not a "good" cancer to get, but there is a lot more uncertainty in the outcome than there use to be.

I still want concrete.  I want a date on a calendar I can do a count down chain to when we can go on long walks holding hands because that is more important than walking for exercise.

Girls days/nights where we paint fingernails that will chip the next day, spread charcoal on our faces (it seemed like a good idea at the time) or go for a drink. (uhh, I didn't get a normal picture of just the girls, I will have to fix that)

Blogger is telling me I have too many pictures, and my clock is telling me I'm going to get less than 6 hours of sleep, so the normal pictures will have to wait until tomorrow. 

Love, Heather